


Unlikely Patients and Bush Tucker

by miss_nettles_wife



Series: Bush Tucker [1]
Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: (charlie is early 20s, Backstory, F/M, Gen, Human Rights Abuses, Hunting, Infection, Lost Child, Past Slavery, Post-Apocalypse, Whump, blake early 40s), egregious exposition, four headed kangaroo, lost spouse, mild medical procedures, non canon ages, pre father/son relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 19:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20711105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_nettles_wife/pseuds/miss_nettles_wife
Summary: Lucien finds himself a traveling companion in the strangest of places. He just has to save his life first.





	Unlikely Patients and Bush Tucker

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant to be a two part story, half backstory, half me being kind of an art hoe and sending Blake and Charlie to a post apocolypse art gallery but...that hasn't happened here because the Charlie Abuse kind of took over and went from the planned two paragraphs to 5,000 words. But it was fun to write, so I think that was probably okay. This is also the first time I've made my own post apocalyptic landscape, it was difficult, but fun. 
> 
> Anyway, this is the first long project I've completed in a long time. I've had a lot going on these last couple of months which really made it hard to sit down and just write. So if you're reading this, thank you. I really appreciate it. Of course, the biggest of thank yous to the kind and lovely folks at TDBM Discord Chat for their encouragement and support! 
> 
> Before I go on for much longer, please enjoy! Leave a review if you liked it, and have a lovely day <3

Lucien Blake was raised on an estate. Old world, that is to say. Both his parents wore, and all their neighbours. They lived in a big house, and his neighbours all lived in big houses and they all seemed to get along well, except for his mother. She wasn’t like the others. She taught him how to be kind, and how to be polite.  
  
His first experience with Mutts was with the pack who lived fairly close to the Estate. Close enough that he could see them if he stood up on the wall of the compound. Like all packs, they lived close together in huts and hovels, and like all packs, they rarely made contact with outsiders. He spent a long time watching them from his vantage point, as they worked, and tanned leather.  
  
His father, Old Man Blake, as Lucien referred to him, wanted his only son to follow in his footsteps and become a doctor. The standards were much less rigid than they were back in the old days, all you really had to do to become a doctor was send your completed test to the Victorian Provisional Government, and if you got enough right bingo bango, you’re a doctor. Of course, his father was more strict than that and after his mother's death, Lucien spent many hours reading salvaged textbooks and following his father, carrying his bag.  
  
It always annoyed him, a little, that medical attention was only for those in the estate. Surely there were people out there who needed help who weren't in an incorporated settlement or who were traveling. He knew travelers didn’t get much medical attention, he’d seen them, walking past. Some were let in if they had something that someone wanted. Most were turned away at the gate. It made him upset.  
  
But before too long, he was married to Mei Lin, who was from a different estate. They met at a multi-estate function. They got married not too long after and had a child not too long after that. And she was truly the light of his life. A small parcel of hope in his otherwise bleak existence. Help someone here, deliver a baby there, tend someone right, treat a cold left. Not a lot of interesting or exciting illnesses on the Estate as his father had led him to believe.  
  
Life was boring, but content, which in the new world was all that anyone could really hope for.  
  
He started to observe the Mutts again. Mutts were new worlders, and they lived in packs. He observed them, they didn’t seem to have the same religious customs as the Estate. No Christmas. No New Years. No Easter. But they didn’t seem unhappy. They chatted amongst themselves and they cared for one another. Much like the estate dwellers; they were content. Living so close to the estate let them reprieve from the bandits that roamed the areas, and their presence gave the estate hints as to where they could find good hunting spaces. They lived separately, but together.  
  
Of course, it didn’t last. Things in the new world rarely did. That was something that he’d learned when his mother died and his world was thrown into chaos. There was only one thing you could truly count on in these trying times as the world struggled to rebuild itself. That it would never last. Because it never did and this was just the same. The estate was attacked by bandits. New worlders who refused to try and rebuild, who reveled in the half-dead government’s lax protection. They came in with weapons and blood lust, killing and taking prisoners. Lucien and his tiny family among them.  
  
The three of them were shipped off, and into labor camps. He spent three years there, missing his family and hoping that they’d managed to get away. He was a doctor, and they knew that he was valuable. He could be used to keep their other prisoners alive as they built up their homes and tended their crops. Slowly, he felt like his love was twisting up inside him into hatred and bitterness.  
  
He managed to escape, after his third year. Funnily enough, Mutts were the catalyst for his escape. A nearby group of Mutts, sick of being raided and tormented, fought back. They had weapons; they had spears and knives as were typical of Mutts, but they also had guns. Big guns. In the chaos, he managed to slip away into the night. He knew that his family wasn’t here. So he left. He went back home.  
  
It was a long walk back to the Estate. Eventually, with some effort, he bargained his way into a traveling caravan of merchants, promising his medical knowledge in return for safe passage to the Estate. They took him home, and when he arrived, the Estate took him back with open arms. An illness had ravaged the compound; he was back to work in an instant. His family had not returned.  
  
But eventually, the illness abated, taking only a few who had been too badly gone by the time he arrived. He never caught it, and he imagined it had something to do with his life in the labor camps; exposed to every illness under the sun. It seemed that the Estate was only getting more closed off; meaning that their immune systems were not as good as they had been once. He spent his time ordering new world texts about medicine and treatment from the thick catalogs brought by the various traders that they met. Being part of the Victorian Provisional Government meant they were on maps. More maps meant more traders.  
  
Life was...Dull again. Not that he wanted to go back to how it had been, of course. But he thought that he could go back out there in the world. Now he had been out there, now he had seen it, why would he want to be here? This is where his family would come back to. It kept him tethered there; like nails in his feet.  
  
But, as with everything in the new world; it changed. Two things you can count on in this world; death and change. Change came to him in the form of the nearby Mutts he’d been observing since his childhood. A man, and two women approached the gate of the Estate, holding a baby; swaddled in tight cloth. Most packs, according to the literature that Lucien had read, had languages of their own and didn’t take an interest in learning spoken English. But this particular group seemed to have one diplomat; the man.  
  
They wanted in. They wanted help.  
  
“Please sirs, the baby is sick. You have a doctor.” He said, his eyes visible between the slit in his leather faceguard. They were deep dark brown.  
  
“We only have help for our own.” The guard said.  
  
“Can we talk to your doctor, please?” He asked again and again, he was turned away. Blake looked at the despairing mother, and his heart broke. He took his big medical bag, pushed past the guards and allowed the Mutts to lead him back to their land. The baby was sick with the same illness which had overtaken the estate; too young with not enough immunity against sickness like its family. He crushed up the antibiotic pills from the estate and gently put it on their gums.  
  
They got better and healed. The mother cried at him gratefully, and the others gathered up things to give him in payment. Dried meat, fresh meat, leather, boots, bows, arrowheads. They even offered him some of their salvaged books. He didn’t want to take their life savings, and he didn’t want to insult them either. Mutts look after their own; he understood now. He accepted the piece of leather and the dried meat before making the short walk back to the estate with the man who spoke English. He then found out that in his absence they’d held trial and voted for him to be exiled.  
  
He collected his things and then left. He didn’t look back.  
  
…  
  
The first time Lucien saw him, he thought it was a trap.  
  
He was half-hidden by the side of the road; poorly hidden from sight and curled into a limp ball. Every so often, he made a small sound. Lucien observed him from a distance; before leveling his shotgun.  
  
“If there is anyone here; you best come out or I’ll blow your friends head off.”  
  
The boy doesn’t move. Hardly twitches, just whined quietly. Lucien waited for movement but saw none. He considered just moving on, as he imagined anyone else who came across the pup (and he was sure he was a pup; he hardly seemed old enough to be away from his pack) would have.  
  
But; he was a doctor, and the first skill of doctoring was to do no harm and leaving the boy would be harm. So, he moved off into the bush and found himself a small clearing. He set up two tents and lit a fire before returning to the roadside. The pup hadn’t moved, but he had stopped making noise. He carried the pup in his arms to the tents and lay him down on a bedroll.  
  
The pup hardly twitched. Lucien took stock of him. He was probably in his twenties, and he had a sweet face, or; he did before it was bashed in like this. His whole body was covered in a thick layer of bruising and they stood out vividly against his milky skin. Lucien hesitantly lifted his shirt to check him for broken ribs and found a huge gash along his chest that was red and inflamed. It looked to be infected, but not so far gone that he wouldn't be able to come back from it. He was young and well built. Before this, he’d been well looked after. When he put his hand on the tender skin near the wound, the pup’s eyes opened halfway and tried to focus on him. The soft noise he made was so pathetic that it could hardly be described as mewl.  
  
He didn’t know if the pup was asking to be left alone or to be saved, so he took this opportunity to check on his eyes. They were grey-blue and unfocuses but his pupils seemed to be the same size. He had dark hair, almost black. And it was slick, but not with grease, rather, with product which was decidedly an old-world thing to do. He opened his mouth and found his teeth to be intact and reasonably white. So up until recently, he’d been brushing his teeth as well. And straight. He didn’t know if mutts had much dental, and he didn’t have the brown eyes of most mutts so he must have at least some old world in him.  
  
But he was dressed like a mutt. Lucien didn’t want to remove his well-worn leather trousers, but he did feel along the bones of each of his legs. Neither of his legs were broken, but he did twitch when he felt along a bruise. He wasn’t sure how much English he spoke; if any at all, but he tried to keep his tone calm.  
  
“It’s okay. It’s okay pup.” He said, pulling away. “It’s alright. I’m a doctor.” When he said doctor, the pup settled slightly, relaxing some tight internal muscles. So he spoke some English. That was helpful. Sucking in a breath, he bandaged the wound as best he could. He was carrying general antibiotics in his bag from his last post at a new world colony that had just been incorporated into the VPG, and he’d thought that it might be good to help them for a while. He’d left when they brought on a doctor full time, and anyway; he had felt the urge to roam again.  
  
It’d been ten years since he left the estate, and he was doing pretty good at making a name for himself. He was still wary, of course. His weapon was never far from his hand; he was concerned about other Mutts. The pups own coming back for him and thinking that perhaps Lucien was trying to steal him, or using him as bait to rob him. Or worse. But the pup was sick. He was either the worlds best actor, or his pack hated him.  
  
He poured water from his canteen into the tin cup from his billy and dissolved the crushed tablets inside. They gave the water a grainy texture that he couldn’t see being too pleasant, but it wasn’t like he’d be able to swallow them himself. Moving painfully slowly and gently, to avoid causing him any undue pain, he inched the pup so he was sitting against his chest. His breathing was steady when he was still, but hitching as he was moved.  
  
“I know. I know.” He said, “But you need to drink, okay?” The pup almost managed to turn his head away before Lucien got the rip of the metal cup into his mouth. When he realized what it was, he started to drink heartily, showing the first sparks of intensity since Lucien first saw him.  
  
Which was good, it meant he was alert enough to not choke. That was probably the first good sign Lucien had seen in him. After that, he let the pup rest. Hesitantly, he left him there, and went back to the road where he came from. He noticed a bag lying a few hundred meters away, and assuming it was the boys, took it with him.  
  
An examination of the bag revealed mostly practical things. A second pair of pants, a second shirt and two additional pairs of socks. A half-full canteen of water, a fork with serrations on one side, dried and salted meat, a miniature first aid kit, a tinderbox, a jar of yellow, familiar smelling powder, salt and pepper in a small wooden container, several pieces of leather braided into a net of some kind, a small journal, some pens, and, unsurprisingly, a small handgun with a full box of ammunition. For the time being, Lucien confiscated that. He attempted to go through the journal; he wasn’t being nosy just trying to find out any information about his patient. It was all written in a script he didn’t understand, so he packed it away.  
  
He turned back to his patient, who was quiet and still; but breathing. He noted there was no bedroll with the bag, so he tucked the one he was lying on over him. Using his own tinder box, he started a small fire and settled down to make himself something to eat. The pup must be a deep sleeper, because even as Lucien warmed his simple meal of baked beans (tinned, of course. Something he’d developed a taste for after leaving the estate.) bread and cheese, he didn’t stir.  
  
Eventually, Lucien set up his bedroll and fell asleep, hoping that the pup wasn’t about to kill him as he slept.  
  
When he woke, he noted that the pup (he would need to find a name for him soon.) had kicked off the top of the bedroll, but otherwise hadn’t moved. As he expected, he was too warm to the touch. Fever, probably from the infection. He didn’t need any more convincing that the pup was no threat to him, and his pack was probably gone. Without thinking, he put a hand down on his shoulder. His eyes opened halfway, heavy-lidded and distant.  
  
“You’ll be right.” He assured him, “I’m going to have a look at your cut. It might hurt, I’m sorry.” He murmured something softly but said nothing else. Lucien took the opportunity to grab his medical supplies and cut away the bandage. The cut didn’t seem better, and today, in the good light, he’d try and flush it out. He didn’t see any blackened skin which was good. Meant no sepsis, out here in the middle of nowhere, he’d have no chance against sepsis. He wasn’t carrying any serious anesthetics on him, but he doubted the pup would remember any of this when he was awake.  
  
He grabbed a small hand towel that already had quite a few old bloodstains on it, and went about cleaning the wound. The pup squirmed, and kept mumbling, but Lucien knew he couldn’t leave it half-finished. He just hoped that he’d fall back asleep and miss out on most of the pain. By the time he was finished, the pup didn’t seem to have the strength to move around, only twitch when he felt something extremely uncomfortable.  
  
Lucien tried to keep up his stream of gentle words.  
  
“It’s alright. I know it hurts, it’s only going to last a minute. If I don’t do this you’ll only feel worse. It’s alright.”  
  
Eventually, he wiped his bloody hands onto the towel and sat back to examine his handiwork. Not as nice as it would have been if he’d been present at the time of the injury but good enough. He decided after that to let the pup be, and write some letters. He had plenty to write before he arrived at the next incorporated settlement. Lucien had a terrible habit of reading letters as soon as he was able to get them but not writing back. Case in point, the large stack that had been growing in the bottom of his bag like mold on a slice of bread.  
  
Some only needed minimal effort to reply, his old traveling companion Matthew for example only needed a couple of paragraphs to prove he was alive. A letter from his private investigator that would take him much longer to reply too, and he wasn’t in the mood anyway so he put it aside for now. Letters from people wanting to include his papers in their catalog that didn’t require more than a brief statement of allowance. Letters from his fathers estate asking him to come home, and declaring that his exile was over, which he read over a few times before writing three versions of the same strongly worded letter, none of which he thought were appropriate to send.  
  
With a sigh, he stuffed them back into his bag and located the Journal of New World Medicine that he’d been reading and settled down on his bed. There was little he could do for the pup aside from offering him sips of water and give him more antibiotics a bit later, so he might as well catch up on his reading while he had free time.  
  
It took about three days for his fever to break. Three days Lucien spent in relative boredom, broken intermittently by assessing his patient for signs of consciousness and when he was conscious, trying to get a few words out of him. Either he didn’t speak English, was too confused to reply, or just ignoring him because he learned almost nothing more than he could tell just by looking at him, aside from the fact that he wanted his mother and hated tinned baked beans even while half-conscious. He couldn’t help but wonder where the pup’s mother was.  
  
He was sure that the pup was older than he appeared on the face since he had a variety of unrelated scars and his long-fingered hands were calloused from use. But even so, and knowing fully well it was a dangerous mindset to fall into, ‘pup’ seemed like a term of endearment. He could call him ‘The Mutt’ but that...Made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t describe, and ‘the patient’ was too formal and cold. So he kept ‘The pup’ for the time being, even if it wasn’t accurate.  
  
He spent a great deal of his time trying to make up a history for him. A daring run-away, an old worlder who joined Mutts, a stolen child. He didn’t think any of them were true, but he’d gotten a bit attached to him. He thought about including him in a letter to Matthew, but by the time he sent it, he expected the pup to be both healed and in the wind.  
  
Even if he was older than a pup, it couldn’t have been by much. He didn’t look old enough to have struck out on his own and if he had It would have been unusual. Most Mutts lived their whole lives in one village having limited contact with the rest of the world. To find one out here, near nothing and no one...It was unusual, to say the least.  
But after three days of doing nothing but write letters, reading and even trying (and failing) to hunt, the pup woke up. Really woke up, that is.  
  
The first thing he did, despite the amount of pain it probably caused him, was jump to his feet. He teetered, unsteady, before crouching down. His eyes, bluer than ever, remained fastened on Lucien. For his part, he was sitting by the fire, drink in hand. A touch of whiskey never hurt anyone after all. He was just as surprised by the sudden movement as the pup, who seemed to be frozen in place.  
  
They both stared at each other for a minute longer, while the pup teetered back and forwards slightly. He looked like he was going to fall over. Heaving himself up, Lucien approached slowly.  
  
“Good to see you’re awake.” He said, wondering for the umpteenth time how much English he spoke. “I’m Lucien. Doctor Lucien Blake.” He’d said his name before while trying to comfort him during the arduous process of changing the bandages of someone who was practically comatose. “You should lie down, pup, before you fall.”  
  
  
The pup has dark, thick eyebrows and he draws them together in confusion, not moving his legs but pointing an accusatory finger.  
  
“Doctor.” He says.  
  
“Doctor.” Lucien agrees, “Accredited and everything. I’m not going to hurt you, pup. Lie down, you’ve been out for a few days.” If he agreed, or if his legs just gave out, Lucien didn’t know but he did fall to the ground, sitting halfway up, eyes tracking him as he approached. “It’s alright.” He said, softly, “It’s okay, I just need to check on your side alright?”  
  
“No.” He said, “No, don’t touch me.”  
  
“Pup.” He said, exasperated, “I need to make sure that nothing’s split open, or you might start bleeding again.” He kept his eyes on him, face tight with frustration at not being able to get away, and from being injured.  
  
“No.” He repeated.  
  
“Pup -”  
  
“No! No more touching. I want to sleep.” This time his eyes were more pleading. Lucien sighed deeply. He supposed that the pup was probably feeling like he didn’t have a lot of control and well...He wasn’t going to strip him of another one.  
  
“Okay.” He said, “I won’t touch. How about you touch and I look.”  
  
“I would like to sleep.”  
  
“I know that. But I need to check.” He seemed to consider it, before he accepted the offered compromise.  
  
“Okay.” Under Lucien’s guidance, he pulled the pad of gauze off his side, and they both examined the wound critically. It was healing nicely, but would probably scar over. The infection was almost cleared up and it seemed okay. “Alright. Can you redress this yourself?” The pup nodded, so Lucien handed him the medium-sized gauze patch. Clumsily, he copied what Blake had done with not exactly unpracticed hands. He didn’t offer any opinion on the injury, nor explanation.  
  
He settled and examined his bedroll.  
  
“Yours?” He asked, frowning.  
“You can borrow it,” Lucien assured him.  
“I have a bedroll.”  
“Not on you, or in your bag.”  
“Must have kept it…” he muttered and curled up slightly on the one Lucien had put him on. He didn’t question who, just let him lie still, though he was clearly still awake and observing him. Lucien didn’t blame him, if he woke up from a hazy fever state to find some man he didn’t know at a camp he didn’t remember making, he’d be nervous as well.  
  
If his fever dreams had been anything to go by, perhaps he was afraid to sleep because he knew that the dreams awaiting him were unpleasant. Or maybe he just plain wasn’t tired. Whatever the case may be and as curious as he was about the pups identity; he just turned his attention back to his journal and the article by Doctor Harvey (a woman whose work he greatly enjoyed reading, and had occasionally sent letters too if he had especially enjoyed her work) on New World Bruising Patterns. Eventually, when he looked up, the pup was asleep.  
  
The following morning, when he awoke, the pup had moved, and seeming a little steadier on his feet, was now sitting cross-legged in front of the fire. He was holding the man with the bloody cloth, and frowning in concentration. Lucien watched him for a few moments before he spoke -  
  
“What are you cooking?”  
“For both of us. I’m no thief.” He did not elaborate on what he was cooking, but from the smell? Baked beans.  
  
“I didn’t say you were,” Lucien said, standing and cracking his back. The pup observed him, and then spoke.  
“You have a lot of tinned food. Bad for you.”  
“I’ll let you in on a secret. I don’t know much about pickling or drying meat. I grew up on an estate.”  
“Oldworlder.” The pup said, like it was all one world.  
“Hm.” Lucien agreed and watched as he scrapped half of the cast iron pan into his bowl, and then served himself the second half before squinting at the skillet.  
“This is seasoned poorly.”  
“I did it myself, that might explain it.”  
“How many coats did you do”  
“Two or three.”  
“I would have done five.” He said and set it aside to smoke on the grass. Lucien settled in to eat and noticed the billy was boiled and there was a cup of tea for him as well. The pup looked like this had used up his energy, and his posture was hunched, likely trying to avoid tugging on his wound.  
  
“Tell me.” He said, to start up conversation, “Do you have a name? I’ve just been calling you Pup these last few days, but I imagine you have one.” The pup swallowed his mouthful and said, simply,  
“Charlie.”  
“Charlie what?”  
“Davis.”  
“So is it short for Charles?”  
“Just Charlie.”  
  
They sat in quiet while they ate. Charlie looked contemplatively at his plate, but before too long he looked about ready to collapse again, so Lucien ushered him back to the bedroll and assured him that he’d clear up, then come to take a look at his side. He seemed slightly more relaxed around him now, but for right now, he moved off.  
  
He walked down to the nearby stream and washed the plates. While he was there, he took the time to refill his canteen and dampen his face before he returned. Charlie wasn’t sleeping, but he did look relaxed, under his blanket. Lucien once again thought that he had a sweet face.  
“Where do you come from?” He asked. Charlie’s eyes came back into focus. He looked up at him, blinking owlishly.  
“What does it matter?”  
“I’m just curious how a well cared for pup ended up dying on the side of the road.”  
“‘M not really a pup.” He said, softly.  
“Sorry,” Lucien replied.  
“I was looking for some people who got stolen from our home.”  
“So you do have one.”  
“Everyone comes from somewhere.” He mumbled and pulled an arm full of blankets into his arms. “What are estates like?”  
“About as close as you can get to life in the old world.” He said. “Lot’s of inbreeding.” He added, as an afterthought. That was why they brought the women from Mei Lin’s estate in. Too many people were related. Lucien was pretty glad he didn’t have to marry someone he was related too, he’d read a lot of literature about children born of such unions and he was please Lee wasn’t that. Apparently the footnote made Charlie laugh, and thought it was little more than a puff of air released from tired lungs, after three days of being near-comatose; every noise he made was novel.  
  
“Never seen one in person.”  
  
“I don’t imagine a lot of mutts have.” He paused, “Am I right to assume you’re a mutt?”  
  
“My mother...Old world. Father...New world. So. Mutt.” He agreed, deep in thought.  
  
“Where is your family, from here?”  
  
“Father dead.” He said, “Don’t want to be around mother.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” Lucien said, “I was very close with my mother.”  
  
“I used to be.” The pup shifted and pulled his arms closer. His eyes were half closed now, tired from the conversation. Secretly Lucien was pleased that he was no longer afraid of him. “Married another old-world. They wanted old-world children, ‘n I’m a mutt.”  
  
Lucien felt it again, that twitch at the word mutt. One he’d been using his whole life and suddenly couldn’t stand the sound of. Deciding this was enough, for now, he pulled the bedroll up closer to Charlie’s chin.  
  
“Rest.” He said, “Get your strength back and you can get moving.” Under Charlie’s breath, he was almost sure he heard him ask why, even as his eyes were already falling closed. He settled down on his bedroll and started back at his letter writing.  
  
Charlie slept on and off, getting up a few times to walk for a bit before coming to lie back down. He didn’t engage in many conversations, but Lucien didn’t expect him too. He seemed much more withdrawn than he would have otherwise expected, but that could just as easily have been from being stuck with someone he didn’t know. He didn’t bother him.  
  
“Doc?”  
  
Lucien grunted and rolled over. Usually, he wasn’t a deep sleeper, especially not while camping but they’d been here for quite a few days now and he had seen not hide nor hare of another human being. So, he’d gotten complacent.  
  
“Doc!” The voice insisted.  
  
“Hm?” He mumbled. Usually, his sleep was disrupted by nightmares and terrors so having a good, comfortable sleep was rare. He was annoyed but drifted close enough to the surface to find out who wanted his attention so badly.  
  
“My handgun?”  
  
“Sure.” He said, and promptly rolled over, not even really sure what he’d just agreed too.  
  
When he woke up, he could smell something both familiar and unfamiliar. He sat up all the way and looked over to Charlie. He was seated at the fire, cooking. Not any of the tinned food Lucien had, but meat and something yellow. Two and two clicked in his head, Charlie’s yellow powder was dehydrated eggs.  
  
He sat, and pulled his blanket around his shoulders. It was starting to get cold out.  
  
“What are you making?” He asked, watching. In the pan, he could also see cooking meat.  
  
“Not beans. No more tins, no more beans.” Charlie lamented, shaking the pan with one hand.  
  
“I didn’t know you felt so strongly.” He said, and he had to admit, it smelled great. It’d been so long since he’d had a proper home-cooked meal. “Did you use your handgun to get that?” He asked, indicating to the pan. Charlie looked at him, frowning.  
  
“No. Waste of bullets.” Instead, he held up the net that Lucien had noticed earlier. “My sling.” The leather was soft and well cared for, and he noticed a few medium-sized stones. Now he knew what it was, he could imagine Charlie flinging stones.  
  
“What did you kill?”  
  
“Rabbit.”  
“Shouldn’t there be entrails?” He asked looking around for the innards of the rabbits.  
  
“Buried them. Didn’t think Old worlders liked guts.”  
  
“I don’t mind.” He replied, shifting more. “I see a lot of them as a doctor.” Charlie pushed the food around with a fork, seemingly unbothered. He noted the billy was boiling again, and tea bags were sitting on the stone by Charlie’s makeshift fire pit.  
  
Par for the course, Charlie didn’t reply, just put a pinch of salt into the pan.  
  
“I added more seasoning.” He said, “Using rabbit fat.”  
  
“Oh, thank you,” Lucien replied, as he began making up two cups of tea. Water, tea bag, a little bit of sugar. He didn’t carry any milk with him, it spoiled to easily and it didn’t seem as though Charlie had any either. So, black with sugar it was. Charlie served up eggs and meat to him, and himself before sitting back behind the fire, keeping it between them.  
  
“So.” Said Lucien, “Tell me. How did you come to be abandoned on the side of the road?”  
  
Charlie took a sip of steaming tea, and looked thoughtful, a bit like he was trying to figure out what the best way to begin his story was.  
  
“I…” He swallowed, “I was born in the Melbourne Outcity.”  
  
“A dangerous place for a child,” Lucien said, imagining the crumbling towers and peeling billboards that one would find in the outskirts of Melbourne. He’d been through there a few times to render assistance to the local mutt population. They’d seemed nice enough, grateful for the assistance.  
  
The Outcity itself was a big mutt camp, lots of families made their homes in the rubble, most had been there since the City fell in the world, their lines the first to be mixed.  
  
“It wasn’t bad.” Charlie said, “My father was a VPG Enforcer.” Well, that might explain why he didn’t have a usual Mutt look about him, he was a new mix. It was unusual though, for an Enforcer to be fornicating with a Mutt. At least, from what Matthew had shared with him after he joined the VPG. He’d never taken Matthew for that sort, but even Lucien had to admit that it was kind of a sweet deal. A place to live, a home base, a wage? Not enough of those for people who didn’t live on estates.  
  
“Was?”  
  
“He...Was killed.”  
  
“I’m sorry for your loss.”  
  
“Thank you.” Charlie said, “Word spread we were alone now. The building got raided. Lots of men taken.”  
  
“You too?”  
  
“No, not me.” Lucien breathed an internal sigh of relief that for whatever the boy had gone through, he’d been spared that injustice at least. “I was going with my…” he paused, then asked, “What do you call someone who marries your mother but isn’t your father?”  
  
“A stepfather.”  
  
“Stepfather.” Charlie repeated, as of committing the word to his memory. “I went with him and some other men to save them. Didn’t work.”  
  
“Bandits did that to you?” Charlie shrugged,  
  
“Maybe them. Could have been someone else. Don’t remember. Lucky you found me.” Lucien hummed in agreement, and focused on his meal, surprised in equal parts that he enjoyed it and that Charlie had been able to kill and skin at least one rabbit without him waking up. He was too settled here. As if he was reading his mind, Charlie blinked owlishly. “How long have we been camped here?”  
  
“About a week. Maybe a bit longer.”  
  
“Too long.”  
  
“Too long.” He agreed. “But you seem pretty well, so I don’t expect you to hang around much longer.”  
  
“Hang around?”  
  
“Stay, be here. You can leave as soon as you like.”  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
“You don’t understand leave?”  
  
“No.” He set his plate down, having practically inhaled his food. “I understand leave. I don’t understand why you would let me.” It was Lucien’s turn to blink now, at Charlie. He was sipping his tea as if he hadn’t just said something extremely upsetting. Because it did upset him. He wasn’t a bandit. He was a doctor. He helped people because he wanted to help. Not so people would feel as thought they owed him something. He swallowed and wondered if he was maybe jumping to conclusions about the boy.  
  
“Why would I not let you leave?”  
“You used your resources and your time. That’s not nothing. I don’t have a lot, but I’m sure I have something for you.” Charlie said, looking through his bag, “And if you don’t want any of this, then I can offer you my body, to do with what you will.” Upon hearing...That...Lucien got to his feet and walked away from the camp to the nearby creek.  
  
He couldn’t stand it. No matter how far he went, or what he did, there it was. Humans keeping other humans. A nice word for slavery. He hated it. He hated that anyone would think for even a second that he’d want to participate in that. That Charlie, someone who he barely knew, would offer his body to pay a perceived debt. He sat by the creek's edge, and put his bare feet in the rushing streams, taking long deep breaths to calm down.  
  
On the other side of the creek, he notices a two-headed kangaroo. He made eye contact with each of its four eyes, watching it. When he was younger, he had no idea such beasts could exist, creatures so different from the ones in the books his father made him read. The same books he read to his baby daughter. Where was she, now? Was she married? Did she have babies of her own to read too? He liked to believe that she did in his heart, even if his brain knew she probably only lived a few days after they were taken. Children are not useful workers, and bandits only wanted useful workers.  
  
He didn’t know how long he sat there, trying to imagine Lee’s face as an adult, but it was long enough for the kangaroo to get a drink and hop away, and for the water to turn his feet wrinkly. He made his way back to the camp and was surprised to see Charlie still there. He’d fully expected him to hear that he could leave and take off. He had a family in the Outercity to get back to, and the only thing for him here was bad memories.  
  
Instead of being in the wind, he was sitting, deep in concentration, reading Lucien’s medical journal. All of their things were packed away, and the fire was put out. So he wanted to move on today. Probably wise, they didn’t want any bandits to find them. He stood for a moment, watching him. It was clear he didn’t know what he was looking at, but his persistence was endearing.  
  
“Find an article you like?”  
  
“I’m not stealing it!” He said, alarmed. That mattered to him, for Lucien not to think him a thief and probably for good reason. VPG Justice was swift and violent, and if Charlie was raised by a VPG Enforcer than he’d know that.  
  
“I didn’t think you were,” Lucien assured him and sat next to him. Charlie put the book down and looked at him.  
  
“I also didn’t mean to upset you.”  
  
“I know that. I just...I hate the idea of people feeling indebted to me for something I would have done anyway.”  
“Oh.” Charlie accepts this weak answer, then says “Can I still come with you? I might not be as smart as you, but I can hunt, so you won’t need to carry so many tins.” Then, “Or if you want the tins, I can carry the bags.”  
  
“Don’t you want to head home?”  
  
“And admit to Bernie that I’m not strong enough to fight bandits? Rather still be lying roadside.” Lucien scoffed but took another look at his patient.  
  
“Well, I suppose it would be reckless to let a patient wander off on their own after being in my care.” Charlie smiled, and it was a sight Lucien could stand to see more of after the last few days.  
  
“You won’t regret it, Doc. Promise.”  
  
And just like that, Lucien had found himself a traveling companion. 


End file.
